Five Moments of Freedom
by Zylona
Summary: There is a darkness that seeps through his eyes, and she wonders if she is the only one that sees it, or merely the only one unafraid to acknowledge it. JackElizabeth.


**Five Moments of Freedom**

_by Zylona_

**Disclaimer: **Most obviously I in no way own any part of Pirates of the Caribbean, or Jack, or Elizabeth.

**Author's Note: **I have not written POTC in lo these many months, therefore this was a bit of a go of it for me. This fic also starts at the end and works it's way back to the beginning, so you get the result and then the build up. And you get five different "types" of scenes.

1. Future Speculation AU.  
2. Dream Sequence.  
3. Alternate Content to a Canon Scene.  
4. "Missing" Filler Scene between Canon Scenes.  
5. Continuation of a Canon Scene.

Good luck with this one. ;)

Five Things Elizabeth Might Have Said to Jack, If She Hadn't Known Better:

* * *

1.

She sits next to him on the worn wooden deck, the moonlight throwing an ethereal glow to him, and he looks so like a ghost that she must clench her hands together to avoid reaching for him, to feel the warmth of his skin, the coarse fabric of his shirt, the beat of his heart.

He has changed, since he came back, since they brought him back. He never speaks of what happened, and no one asks, because it is assumed to be worse than one could imagine, and best not to know what awaits them at the end. He carries about differently. He still swaggers and swills rum, still talks in riddles and circles. However, there is a darkness that seeps through his eyes, and she wonders if she is the only one that sees it, or merely the only one unafraid to acknowledge it.

They say nothing and she watches the sky, monitoring him out of the corner of her eye. She breathes in and tries to think of something to say, something to fill the void between them; the chasm that has been stretching and pulling them further apart since world's end, a disconnection that she feels so distinctly as if part of her is being swallowed.

She feels the nudge of fingers against her arm and looks down to see a bottle of rum extended to her. A smile touches her lips, and an ache of what could have been, perhaps what should have been, fills her chest as she lightly takes it from his worn hands. The alcohol rolls down her throat like lava, liquid fire.

"I'll never see you again." It is a statement, not a question, because in her mind there is no doubt. "We will make port, and you will sail away, and I will never see you again."

The silence lingers in the breeze, taunting her as it does the sails.

"And you will marry dear William," he finally says. "And in the mundane every day life he will give you, the memory of me and of our adventures will fade, at least in importance." And there is something of bitterness and mockery in his tone, though he believes every word of it.

"I would not be so certain," she says and stares down at her hands in her lap, trying to shake the doubts from her mind.

"HAH!" but there is little joy in his voice.

"Even…" She swallows and takes another swig of rum for courage. "Even if he wanted me, which I doubt he does, I am no longer completely certain that I…that I wish to marry him."

The words hang in the air, as tangible as the glass in her hands and the wood beneath her. He says nothing, only stares at her, as if he sees straight through to her bones. His expression changes minutely under her inspection, and suddenly he is on his feet and walking away from her, heading where, she does not know. Her heart stops as his feet do the same, and he turns to look at her, eyebrows raised in question.

"Are you intending to stay?" And the question is more than one, both with the same answer, yet with entirely different meanings.

* * *

2.

"Jack…" a whisper.

"As _you_ live and breathe, love," a joke.

"Please…" a grimace. "Please don't."

"Then what?" a question.

"I don't know," confusion.

"Yes you do," vehemence.

"How? How can you be sure?" desperation.

"Because there is only what a man can do, and what a man can't do. What can't you do?" insistence.

"Many things," avoidance.

"Then what is it that you want? And you _do_ know. It is there, you just won't take it," dangerous.

"I can't," deflection.

"Take what you want, give nothing back," remembrance.

"Pirate," an answer.

* * *

3.

As her hand trails along his wrist, she believes she can feel his pulse beat strong, throbbing through her. The boards ripple under her feet as the kraken makes another pass, and she knows she must leave if she is to escape, and yet she swears there is a cord tied around her and anchored to him that she cannot snap.

"It pointed to you," she mumbles, so close to him her upper lip grazes the hair above his own. Confusion drifts across his features, a brief wave upon his brow.

"The compass," she explains, her own words choking her. "Aboard the Pearl…and again on Isla Cruces. When I held it, it pointed to you. I tried to will it away, to make it point towards what I thought I most wanted."

Her gaze roams over his face, begging for a reaction to guide her. But there is nothing that she can read. Nothing she can decipher in his expression.

"I love Will," she protests. "I love him. I have to."

She searches one last time for him to give her a sign -- a sign that what she has said has affected him in some way. It is all for naught and though the grief is already threatening to suffocate her, bearing heavy upon her chest, she sets her jaw.

"This is the only way, don't you see? It's after you. Not the ship. Not us. I'm not sorry."

* * *

4.

The lantern casts deep shadows along the dank corridor. She ironically uses all the grace and training she was taught to sneak along the ship silently. This is a bad idea, and she knows it is, as the fear roils in her gut.

"What're you doin' here?" She almost startles out of her skin, her heart near exploding, as she whirls to see him leaned against the far wall of the cell.

"I don't know," she answers. And it is truth whole.

"Well, Miss Swann," he murmurs, no louder than a gentle whisper. "There must be a reason. Fine ladies don't tend to wander into the brigs of ships for a palaver."

"I'm sorry," she says, weakly, with a small shrug of the shoulders.

"So you said on the longboat," he replies sharply.

"Yes," she whispers. "I wanted you to know that if…if I get the chance, I will help you. In whatever way I can. That I will set you free, if it is in my power to do so."

She turns to go, but cannot help the words that tumble from her mouth, "You save my life, I save yours, so we're square once more."

And before she turns her back to walk away she imagines she sees a grin upon his mouth, the gold glinting with lantern fire.

* * *

5.

The sea rolls against the shore, chewing it up and swallowing it. The heat of the fire is at her back and her eyes roam the horizon for a sign of hope. She startles as she feels a warm pressure on her back, her eyes dart behind her to the man lying in the sand. His eyes droop under the weight of exhaustion and intoxication, but there is a small smile touching the corners of his lips as his hand slackly drifts down her back.

"Lay down, love," he mutters and gives a soft tug to her shift.

"Miss Swann," is her reply, but it is half-hearted at best. He waves a hand back and forth in dismissal or acquiescence, she cannot yet say which. She looks at him with a wary eye before lying back with more than two hands distance between them. A safety precaution she deems necessary.

"Tell me a story," he requests, and she turns her head sharply to look at him in disbelief.

"Me?" she questions. "Tell you a story?"

"Aye," he answers, and his eyes drift over to look at her. There is something there she cannot identify, and somehow knows she should not try.

"I have no stories that could possibly be of interest to the most famous pirate in the Spanish Main," she replies with a bite in her tone.

"Then tell me something from your childhood," he insists. "Something you dreamed up as a wee lass reading tales of Pirates and their dastardly deeds.

She hesitates and feels her heart pound steadily under his warm gaze.

"Shortly after my mother died," and here she takes a shuddering breath at the renewed pain. "My father was forlorn. He kept to the house, turned down guests, refused to go to Market, anything of the sort. I was locked in my house, for all intents and purposes."

She looks down at her hands resting on her stomach as it rises and falls with every breath, wondering if this is a good idea, and if she should share it with anyone, much less the man in question.

"I had this fantasy -- a daydream, really -- that you would come and rescue me and take me to your pirate ship where I could be free to roam, free to do as I pleased without father's permission. Free…free from the pain. Of course, my interpretation of you is nothing of what you truly are. I have to admit, you were a bit more dashing and swashbuckling in my imaginings. Entirely less real."

Her gaze slides over to look at him, and he is no longer looking at her, but holding his attention to the ocean as it tumbles and rolls over rocks and coral. She rolls over onto her side, with her back facing him and feigns sleep, trying to extinguish the sudden uncomfortable tension that settles over them.

"Must be a terrible disappointment," she thinks she hears him mumble, but the ocean is loud and he spoke so softly she cannot be sure. Though she cannot close her eyes for fear of falling prey to her exhaustion, she keeps motionless and perfectly quiet until she finally hears him softly begin to snore.


End file.
